Garden experiments and the art of chia

Anyone remember chia pets? You know, those little grooved (no, not groovy) clay heads or animals that came with a packet of seeds that you soak, sprinkle along the grooves, water and wait for the figures to grow green hair. You don’t see them around much these days. Maybe it’s because chia seeds have recently become the darlings of the health food crowd, and you’re supposed to eat them for their high nutritional value, not make them into silly windowsill toys.

Well, speaking as a sort of semi-health food nut, I do actually like chia seeds, The chia plant, native to Mexico, produces seeds that are crunchy when raw and more or less delicious. Although there’s all kinds of stuff you can do with them, such as drop them into pomegranate juice to experience their gooey outer coating, I just sprinkle them on yoghurt and enjoy their crunchiness. If you’re looking for something different, you could mix them with a little tomato sauce into a cream cheese dip for your next cocktail party.

Let us acknowledge that the urge to experiment is universal and central to all progress. Hey, let’s try gardening upside down! (Just the plants, not the gardener!) Acknowledging this, dear reader, you will not be surprised that yours truly poured out a handful of organic chia seeds and wondered if they could be become a DIY chia seed growing project on the tiny deck of our cozy condominium.

With the memory of my first, only, and totally disastrous upside down tomato project still smoldering in my cerebral cortex or wherever bad memories smolder, I vowed always to plant any future gardening projects heads, not tails, up.

I didn’t vow not to sneak out to the deck in my bathing suit, however. Over the years I have experienced gardening in many stages of dress/undress. Years ago, B.C. (before condominium) I mined the possibilities of nightgown gardening and pajama gardening but decided to draw the line at bra gardening, or brardening. I’m not daring enough or isolated enough to even consider nude gardening, but I understand there are those who do. Good luck to them and their Jersey tomatoes.

Last May I soaked the chia seeds, then sprinkled them into a 9 inch clay pot of nutritionally balanced planting medium (formerly known as “dirt”) and stuck the pot in my living room plant window. Almost instantly green things shot skyward, so vigorously they had to be thinned down to 4 or 5.

A few weeks later I put the chia pot, not pet, outside in a deck planter between two tomatoes. The most amazing thing happened. The plants, now thinned to three, shot skyward as if headed for outer space. So long, earthlings!

By mid August the three chia plants were taller than I am (5 ‘5”) and were elbowing the tomato plants aside. I had to cut them down to two, with thick square stems and tons of leaves but no flowers. None. How can you have seeds without flowers, boys and girls?

You can’t. So here are these two tall green objects and I don’t know what to do about them. Except stare and wonder, and worry that there’s too much nitrogen. But the planting mix is supposed to be balanced, and the tomatoes are OK. Maybe I should put little dresses on my chias, you know, doll them up for a quinceanos party in honor of their Mexican heritage. Sing them La Cucaracha? Maybe play them mariachi music to get them in the mood to reproduce.

Wait, do I need boy plants like holly bushes do?

Special insects?

OK, time for serious research.

Whaddaya know, the web page says you can home-school your own chias. It shows a photo of a smallish plant with a yellow flower that looks suspiciously like a marigold. No resemblance to my guys. Maybe the website designer, desperate for an illustration, figured “who would know the dif?” How many people have seen pictures of a chia plant, let alone its flowers? Maybe the health food store sold me bamboo seeds disguised as chias.

I’m embarrassed to say my neighbor looked at the monsters and said, “What the heck is THAT?”

I’m more embarrassed that I had to say, “I don’t know for sure. I think they’re supposed to be chia plants.”

“WHAT plants?” she said. I told her I may have planted frankenseeds, as opposed to frankincense.

I wish I knew what the plants’ plans are. How much higher can they grow? If they keep growing and just make tons of leaves will they ever put out flowers? If they haven’t bloomed by winter will I have to roll the deck box into the house? Where on earth would I put it? Or will they just droop and die without fulfilling their destiny?

So much for fascinating new south-of-the-border foodstuffs. On a trip to Mexico once I remember eating deep fried ants, a local specialty. They were OK, sort of crunchy. Now there’s an idea for your next cocktail party. Forget chia seeds, go for the ant dip.

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